


test run

by nightcalling



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcalling/pseuds/nightcalling
Summary: “Have you ever done it with a guy?” Diego asks Luther one morning.Luther peers at him, quirking an eyebrow.“You know, a guy.” Diego walks nonchalantly over to the fridge. “A guy. A man. A… dude.”
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves
Comments: 22
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, TUA fandom! I never expected to fall for this show as hard as I have, let alone write anything for it, but here we are. This fic doesn’t really fit in the canon season 2 timeline, so we can pretend it’s set in some season 2 AU after they’ve all found each other. There are brief mentions of/allusions to past Diego/Eudora, Diego/Lila, and Diego/Klaus, but they aren't the focus of this.
> 
> Shout-out to Lex for being an enabler, you know this is half dedicated to you.

“Have you ever done it with a guy?” Diego asks Luther one morning.

Luther peers at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“You know, a guy.” Diego walks nonchalantly over to the fridge. “A guy. A man. A… dude.”

Luther glances up at the ceiling, chewing slowly, then back down at his bowl of half-filled fluffy eggs. He squints, forehead drawing sweat like he’s trying to conjure up the correct answer to Diego’s question. Then, he looks back at Diego and swallows. “You know I have.”

Diego freezes in the middle of opening the fridge. The handle slips from his fingers, sending the door slamming shut. He had meant the question to be rhetorical, as a casual opening to his next prepared question. He didn’t expect Luther to answer affirmatively. Luther… Luther has…

When? Did this happen after they became scattered across time and space? Was it part of Luther’s job as a bodyguard? How long has Luther been here again?

“Seriously?” is what Diego asks.

Luther shrugs inconsequentially. He smiles, seemingly satisfied to leave that as his answer, then takes another bite of his eggs.

“Who was it?” Diego asks. He opens the fridge again, this time keeping his eyes fixed on Luther as his hands stumble around the coolness in search of the orange juice.

Luther stares at him, confusion written all over his face. On one hand, Diego wants to smack it out of him. On the other hand, the way Luther’s nose crinkles and his lips purse slightly from the expression makes Luther look, for lack of a better word, endearing. Luther tries to be a tough guy, but Diego knows that Luther is the softest out of them all. It’s simultaneously Luther’s best and worst trait.

He should stop thinking about this. In fact, thinking too much about Luther is how Diego got himself in this situation in the first place, caving into a moment of weakness last night during a bout of horniness that began with a half-hard cock, as all things do. Somewhere between snaking a hand into his pants and working a steady rhythm up and down his cock, the limbs pinning him down by the shoulders in his mind morphed from Lila’s thighs to Luther’s ridiculous arms.

And that’s when he opened his eyes wide as he stroked one last time, spilling all over his hand with the realization that, shit, does he want to bone Luther? _Luther_ , with his ape physique that should really turn Diego off but manages to do completely the opposite of that, especially when Luther puts it to work and flexes his strength? _Luther_ , with his sensitive heart and even more sensitive soul, their so-called Number One with such a leader complex that he’s ended up damaging himself with it?

What a goddamn moron. Luther, yes, but also Diego himself for finding any of that attractive. His brain must’ve gotten smashed to pieces during the time jump and assembled haphazardly back together with duct tape because that’s the only reason why he’s here in the kitchen, trying to… what, proposition Luther? Is that what he’s doing here?

Maybe it’s a byproduct of Lila crushing him in bed, the memory of that night refusing to fade away no matter how much he wills it. Having the upper hand over his partner? Hot. Having a partner who’s strong enough to overpower him and can give as well as they take? Even hotter. Even back when he was with Eudora, that was what he’d loved most about her. It’s also why Lila had managed to nestle under his skin and settle into his bones, despite his better judgment. Now that Lila’s gone, he has nobody else to turn to except for his family, and the only person who can come close to bench pressing him is Luther.

So, that’s why, right? That’s why he’s thinking about this? It’s merely a process of elimination, coupled with the need to get off with another person present instead of only his own hand. If that person happens to be Luther, then so be it. Never mind that this whole being sent back in time fiasco has made Diego realize that he shares more in common with Luther than he’d cared to admit before. Never mind that Luther seems to have mellowed out to the way he used to be when they were trainees, before their father put grandiose ideas and expectations inside Luther’s head, building the pressure inside Luther’s chest until Luther seemed ready to explode at any given moment.

Luther’s still too overly serious at times and an all-round idiot, but that’s not all he is. He’s also earnest, and kind, and funny, and gentle, and caring, and—and a lot of other things that Diego had let time lock into the attic of his mind. Now that he’s brushed away the cobwebs and swept away the dust, what’s left is just… Luther. The boy that always took too much on his own shoulders because he thought it was his responsibility to bear everybody else’s sins and burdens.

If Diego’s being honest, maybe all the competition he’d felt in the past, all the rage and anger that welled up inside of him every time he and Luther crossed paths, was because he wanted to express the resentment that Luther wouldn’t allow himself to show. Maybe what Diego wanted all along was to be Luther’s mirror, to reveal to Luther what he was doing to himself by keeping it all buried inside. If Luther wouldn’t face it, then Diego would face it for him.

Luther still hasn’t responded, so Diego repeats, “Who was it?”

Luther looks around the kitchen, eyeing all potential exits as any trained bodyguard would do. His time with Ruby seems to have sharpened his alertness. It unexpectedly sends an electric spark up Diego’s spine.

“Is this a prank?” Luther asks. “Did Klaus put you up to this?”

Klaus? Why would Luther bring up Klaus? Unless…

“You did it with Klaus?” Diego yelps before remembering that it’s still six in the morning.

Luther turns those confused eyes on him once more. “Yeah?” he says before taking another bite of eggs.

“Explain,” Diego says. He sits down in the seat across from Luther and pushes the bowl of eggs out of Luther’s reach.

“Hey, I was eating that—”

“Will you just spill it, big guy?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Luther says with a huff. His shoulders heave from the movement, causing his chair to creak. Diego wonders if this means that Luther can make the bed creak during sex, too. Maybe Luther doesn’t even need to be exerting that much force for it to happen. He’d probably break the bed frame just by lying on it.

That begs the next logical question—what would happen if Luther was fucking someone in earnest? He seems like the type to be nice and gentle and chaste in bed, wanting to cuddle and all that shit, but if, just what if the proverbial beast was set loose? Would he fuck someone so hard that he sends them both sinking directly through the bed and onto the floorboards? Would he relent after they reach the ground, or would he keep going until the wood is cracked and their cocks are spent and whoever he’s fucking’s back is digging a hole in the earth below? Would he let Diego be that person on his back, at Luther’s mercy and wanting more, until Diego takes advantage of Luther’s need to breathe and flips them so that Luther’s the one on his back, and they exchange a bruised kiss before going for round two?

That’s more than one question, but his point stands.

“You mentioned Klaus,” Diego says, ignoring Luther’s question. “Explain.”

“We were literally in the same room when it happened,” Luther says. “We all were, all of us.”

Diego blinks. “All of us?”

“You, me. Allison, Vanya, Five. Ben when we were kids…”

“Woah, woah, wait.” Diego lifts his hands in the air, waving them around awkwardly for a few seconds before putting them down again. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about here?”

“Kicking ass, what else?” Luther says. He moves to take back his bowl of eggs, then pauses mid-reach. “Were you not talking about kicking ass?”

It’s Diego’s turn to stare at Luther this time. Of course, Luther’s one-track mind leaps directly to fighting. Diego should set the record straight and clarify the situation, but instead, he says, “Yeah, kicking ass. Totally.”

Luther grins, then draws the bowl all the way back to him, fork immediately dunking back into the pile of yellow. “Great.”

“Great,” Diego echoes. He pops open the orange juice and drinks directly from the carton, only stopping after his neck is strained from craning it.

~

“You’ve done it with a guy,” Diego says to Klaus later that afternoon. “Multiple guys.”

Klaus doesn’t even lift his head from where he’s floating in the pool, merely waves a hand in the air like he’s blessing his immediate surroundings. “That I have.”

“How do you,” Diego starts.

“How? You’re really asking me that?” Klaus pushes his sunglasses onto his forehead, then starts paddling over on his float with his pool noodle. “I thought I would’ve left a better impression on you than _that_.”

Diego raises his hand. “Don’t.”

“I mean, I’m good at a lot of things, but I’m especially good in bed.”

“Klaus.”

“All those noises you made when I finally got you off? They sure were something. We had so much fun.”

“Klaus, focus.”

“So you can understand why I’m the teensiest bit offended by this—”

Diego picks up a beach ball and hurls it in Klaus’s direction, hitting Klaus squarely in the face.

“Ow,” Klaus complains, rubbing a hand over his nose and pinching at the bridge. “Not the kind of ball I like flying at my face, thanks.”

“What I meant,” Diego says, crouching down at the edge of the pool. “What I meant was, how do you…”

“I’m not hearing a different question here,” Klaus says. He leans forward, squinting in Diego’s direction. “Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance? A joint? A shot? Multiple shots?”

“No. How do you make it clear to someone that, you know.” Diego gestures lamely. “That you want to…”

Klaus manages to look utterly unimpressed, which is worse than Klaus laughing at him. “Who’s this person you want to bang that has you asking this silly question? Go flaunt that ass, you know that anybody would be lucky to have you.”

Diego runs a hand over his face, trying not to turn around and march out of the mansion. “If it was that easy, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“I find it hard to believe that there’s someone out there who wouldn’t want a piece of you,” Klaus says, which Diego knows is a compliment, but it doesn’t make him feel better.

“Not everyone’s blessed with natural charm like you are,” Diego says.

Klaus waves his hand. “Please, you are cute as a button. You just don’t know how to advertise yourself. Getting rid of that haircut is a good place to start.”

Diego forces down the urge to push a hand through his hair and says, rather carelessly, “He wouldn’t care about something like that.”

“Oh?” Klaus perks up, suddenly looking a million times more interested and invested in the situation. “Then what would this mysterious man care about, pray tell?”

“Like—” Diego sighs. “Like how good your heart is, or how many good deeds you’ve done in a day, or—I don’t know, whether you’re a shitty person or not? Shit like that?”

Klaus wrinkles his nose. “Dear God, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like Luther.”

A beat.

“Wait a minute,” Klaus says. “Is it Luther?”

“No,” Diego says.

“ _Yes_.” Klaus paddles the rest of the way over and grabs onto Diego’s ankles. “Are you finally making your move? Is this finally happening?”

Diego stares into Klaus’s eyes. “Finally?”

“I knew all that alpha male bullshit was just flirtation in disguise.” Klaus releases one of Diego’s ankles to wave a hand in the air. He keeps doing that like Diego’s supposed to know what that means. “So? What’s your game plan?”

If Klaus is this adamant about it, then there’s no point in denying it anymore. Once Klaus goes on a roll, he shoots off like a snowball that’s tumbling down a hill stretching into infinity.

“I don’t have one,” Diego admits. “That’s why I’m.” He stops.

“Ah.” Klaus places his hands together, palm to palm, then bows his head briefly before directing a glimmering smile at Diego. “Well, then, good on you to come to me, the master.”

Before Diego can decide whether he wants to kick Klaus off his float or jump into the pool and tackle Klaus off, Klaus grabs both of Diego’s hands and squeezes them.

“What?” Diego looks down at their intertwined fingers, then back up at Klaus’s face. There’s the wide grin, the soft eyes, the bright glow of Klaus’s entire expression. Klaus was never very good at hiding his feelings. This one tells Diego that he’s going to need a moment to process whatever Klaus is going to say next.

“This is Luther,” Klaus enunciates slowly, emphasizing every vowel and consonant like he’s teaching a preschooler how to say a new word. Or, maybe the more apt analogy would be to say it’s like he’s trying to piece together a coherent sentence after a night of too much booze.

“And?” Diego asks, when Klaus doesn’t elaborate.

“ _And_ ,” Klaus says, “that means you’re already there.”

“Already… where?” Klaus needs to stop speaking in riddles, or Diego’s going to seriously kick him off the float.

Klaus sighs patiently, clearly enjoying this. “You said it yourself, didn’t you?” He releases Diego’s hands and begins counting off on his fingers. “You’ve got a good heart. I’m sure you’ve done enough good deeds to cover the rest of your life and the next. And you are obviously not a shitty person.”

Klaus drops both hands and looks expectantly at Diego.

“I was joking,” Diego says, though he really wasn’t. Luther was never the type to have his head turned by a pretty exterior—probably because he understood what it was like to be judged by looks alone the most out of all of them.

“You were definitely not joking,” Klaus says. “And I’m definitely not, either. Brother dearest, you must learn to think more highly of yourself.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Ah,” Klaus tuts, “but this isn’t about me, is it?”

Diego feels a smile overtaking his face. He can’t help it. Klaus was always good at that, putting smiles on people’s faces.

“I am pretty awesome, aren’t I?” Diego says. In fact, “awesome” was precisely the word he’d used to describe himself to Luther.

Instead of waving his hands in the air, Klaus leans forward and wraps his arms around Diego’s neck, pulling Diego across the threshold. It’s uncomfortable, this position, being half-suspended in the air and trying to not fall into the water, but Klaus is warm and familiar, so Diego lets it be.

Diego curls his own arms around Klaus’s shoulders, patting Klaus’s back once, and says, “Thanks.”

Then, he tips all the way forward until gravity wins both of them over, laughing at Klaus’s yelps when they hit the water.

~

Despite what Klaus said, Diego still isn’t sure what his “game plan” is. He’s been thinking about it the entire way back to Elliott’s, but all he’s got by the time he opens the door is: “Step 1: Confront Luther.”

Yes, he realizes that “Confront Luther” is vague as shit, but he’s got to leave room for all potential actions, doesn’t he? It could mean something as simple as saying hello, or staring at Luther until Luther makes a move first. It could even mean grabbing Luther’s ass.

He’s pondering which one of those options to begin with when he turns down the hallway and sees Luther standing there with the tiniest towel that Diego’s ever seen wrapped around Luther’s waist, doing a very poor job of hiding Luther’s assets.

Why is Luther _naked_?

“Why are you naked?” Diego asks.

Luther startles, then spins around, making Diego’s field of vision line up perfectly with Luther’s nipples. It’s not like Diego’s never seen nipples before, or very specifically, Luther’s nipples, but at this very moment, it feels very much like a brand new experience.

“Took a shower,” Luther says. “Thought I was going to have the room to myself.”

“Elliott?”

“Out.”

“Oh.” Diego swallows, then looks up. Space boy nearly has an entire head over him, so Diego has no choice but to crane his neck to meet Luther’s eyes.

“Do you mind?” Luther asks. He sounds amused, but also cautious, and slightly hesitant. He might sound a little breathless, too? Turned on? Diego’s not sure what to make of any of that. He’s probably projecting.

“I don’t mind,” Diego says, which is not what he intended to say, at all. He expects Luther to laugh it off and bulldoze past him, but instead, Luther places his large, large palms on Diego’s hips and turns them until Diego’s back hits the wall.

“What?” Diego asks. Because, what?

“Do you mind?” Luther asks again. There’s a seriousness in his eyes that could mean anything.

But, this is Luther, and Diego knows Luther, has always known Luther even when he tried to shut it out, knows that the seriousness is drawn from the same urgency that’s settling into Diego’s gut, heating Diego from the inside out and hugging him like a blanket, a furnace.

And so, Diego says, “No,” and that’s all it takes for Luther to press the rest of the way in.

Diego’s got to admit, he’s missed the burning sensation of facial hair scratching red lines into his skin, a roughness that makes Diego feel alive, makes Diego feel like the world is spinning in the right direction and his head is screwed on properly, no matter what apocalypse is waiting around the corner.

Luther’s roughness is offset by the gentleness of Luther’s grip on Diego’s hips, and the combination is nothing short of lethal. It’s intoxicating, and it becomes even more so once Diego registers Luther’s hands coming up to pull his shirt off, so Diego raises his arms and lets it happen, lets Luther strip him free and rub against him until his chest hair is digging into Diego’s skin. And—

Huh. Luther’s always hated people seeing him like this, full body on display. Now, with Luther’s tongue shoving down his throat and kissing in a manner that’s methodical and messy and one-hundred percent Luther, Diego is overwhelmed by the absolute trust that Luther is putting in him for letting him touch him like this. It quickens the blood rushing through Diego’s veins, and he feels the tingling all over, feels his fingertips strike like matches and his cock harden against Luther’s thigh.

And, oh—the hardness poking into Diego’s abdomen is definitely not only attributed to the knot that’s keeping Luther’s towel in place. Diego palms at Luther’s erection through the towel, drawing a light gasp out of Luther’s throat, low and gravelly.

“Can we,” Luther says against Diego’s lips, and Diego says, “Fuck me.”

Luther chokes, reddening until even his neck and shoulders begin to flush, his suaveness from before completely dissipating along with it.

Diego smirks. There’s the Luther that he knows and loves: earnest and slightly awkward, and always wearing his heart on his sleeve. Doesn’t Luther know that the qualities he likes in other people are the ones he holds in abundance? All Luther has to do is look inward, and he’ll find what he’s been looking for.

Maybe, in time, Diego will be able to get this through Luther’s head, but for now…

“I said,” Diego says, reaching under Luther’s towel to wrap his hand around Luther’s cock, “fuck me. Now.”

He strokes once, and that’s apparently all the edging that Luther needs to pick Diego up like they’re on the moon and gravity doesn’t exist, kicking open the door to the bedroom and tossing him onto the mattress.

~

They don’t break the bed frame, mostly because Luther insists that they behave as proper guests, and proper guests don’t go around ruining their host’s furniture, but they come close.

~

“So,” Diego says, about an hour after they’ve both come at least twice or thrice or somewhere in that vicinity—he’s not sure because it’s all a blur, a sex-filled blur—and he’s laying his head against Luther’s chest as Luther runs his fingers through Diego’s hair, “I guess we should talk about this.”

He doesn’t really want to “talk about it,” but that’s what Luther will probably want to do, so he’s doing Luther a solid by bringing it up first so Luther doesn’t feel guilty.

Luther stays silent, but his fingers continue to pull and push at Diego’s scalp without skipping a beat, keeping Diego close.

Diego’s not really sure what that combination means. He tries again. “Should we talk about this?”

“What are you really asking, Diego?”

Diego forgets this side of Luther sometimes, the perceptive side that tends to be overshadowed by Luther’s everything else.

“This is,” Diego says. “This is a—a one-time… thing, right?”

He winces the moment he finishes the sentence. How utterly lame and uncool is that?

For some reason, Luther is still carding his fingers through Diego’s hair. If Luther keeps this up, Diego won’t want to feel anybody else’s heat on his skin for a long, long time. That’s either a very good thing or a very bad thing, depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.

Luther takes a particularly deep breath. Diego feels it in the way his head rises and sinks with the motion, like the tide going in and out with the moon. Luther may have been sent to space, but Diego always knew that if Luther really put his mind to it, even the moon couldn’t help but bend to the physics of Luther’s existence, just as Diego is doing right now. This used to anger Diego beyond belief, knowing that he was never going to advance beyond being Number Two to Luther’s Number One. But, after all this shit about apocalypses and time jumps and Dad and Mom and… and all that, he’s developed a fresh perspective on everything.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that he’s finally willing to face the truth, that Luther is someone worth leveling the playing field for because Luther would do the same for him. Team Zero, right?

“This morning,” Luther says. He’s going to take this conversation that far back, huh?

“Yeah?” Diego says.

Luther takes another deep breath, in and out. Diego rises and sinks, letting nature take its course.

“This morning,” Luther says again. “I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“What you were really asking.”

It takes a while for the meaning behind those words to register, so Diego ends up lying there on Luther’s chest for a minute or two before sitting up and turning to Luther.

“Then why?” Diego says. “Why would you—”

“Wanted to give you a way out,” Luther says, “just in case.” And there’s that self-deprecating tone again, the one that’s always accompanied Luther’s self-doubt and self-hatred and—

Diego can’t let that fly.

“You shouldn’t have,” he says.

Luther nods. “I know.”

Diego straddles Luther’s hips, bracketing Luther’s broad form with his legs and grabbing hold of Luther’s face on either side with his hands, forcing Luther to look him in the eye.

“You shouldn’t have,” Diego repeats. He leans forward, digging his cock into Luther’s chest, keeping Luther steady underneath him. “Say it.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Luther says, always the type to follow orders. Diego can tell from the spark in Luther’s eyes that this time, Luther isn’t following them blindly.

“Don’t make me have to tell you that again,” Diego says.

Luther runs his palms up Diego’s thighs, resting them beneath Diego’s ass. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Good,” Diego says. “Means I’ll feel better about doing this.” He grinds down onto Luther’s hands, onto Luther’s cock that’s half-hard again.

Luther laughs, light and airy. “Well, great. Because I wasn’t planning on this being a—what was it you said? A ‘one-time thing.’”

“Asshole,” Diego says, then pulls Luther in by the neck to kiss him.

~

This time, they do break the bed frame.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego learns three things during the first week of this new… relationship with Luther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on a continuation of this fic, but things never go according to plan. This fic is now definitively set in some post-season 2 AU where the fam is still in the 60s and many, uh, plot-related things have not happened. 
> 
> Please note the change in rating from chapter one!

Diego learns three things during the first week of this new… relationship with Luther.

To start, Luther enjoys kissing. A lot. However, Diego learns this not when Luther kisses him that first day they fuck, but rather the morning after, when Luther floats by to drop a kiss on the top of his head while Diego is filling up a glass of water at the sink.

“Morning,” Luther says, before picking a fork out of the nearby drawer and leaving promptly.

And, like—Lila didn’t do that, would only give Diego a pat on the face or a squeeze on his ass at most. Eudora, on the other hand, hadn’t even done _that_ , would just tell Diego to haul his ass out of bed because _they’ve gotta go, they’ve got work to do_.

The point is, Diego’s got no reference for whatever it is that Luther’s doing. It’s definitely weird, right? Weird, but not necessarily alarming. That is, until they fuck again the second night and they wake up the next morning and Luther does it _again_ , this time planting the kiss on Diego’s cheek while Diego’s cleaning his newly procured knives.

And it keeps happening. And happening, and happening, until Diego has no choice but to deem it a pattern on the seventh day.

Not to say that Diego doesn’t like it. If he has to choose between liking it and hating it, he’s squarely in the former camp, but still. It’s, uh. It was unexpected, to say the least.

Second, Luther has a thing for Diego’s hair. It’s not even in the most obviously kinky way, like pulling on it or whatever else comes to mind when someone says they have a hair fetish. To even say it’s a fetish would be cheapening it, because with Luther… it’s more like he’s content resting his hand anywhere near Diego’s head, sometimes playing with a few of the strands if his mind is wandering. It’s as if Luther can’t not touch Diego’s hair at least once every ten minutes.

For example, Luther will ghost his fingers across the base of Diego’s neck, curling them there without any intention of removing them until he needs his hand for something else. This can be during breakfast in the mornings, or when they’re both washing up, or when Luther thinks Diego isn’t paying attention because Diego is half dozing off on the couch but also secretly awake enough to register Luther’s hand. Diego faintly wonders if Luther would’ve found a way to work his way through his hair if Diego was still sporting his signature military cut.

That train of thought leads Diego to remember that on a day when the summer heat had been particularly bad, he’d entertained shaving all of his hair off. Somehow, he’d managed to let the moment of impulsivity pass by after staring at the razor for a few minutes and then putting it neatly back on the bathroom shelf.

When he mentions this to Luther, mostly as a joke, Luther looks him in the eye and says, “It’s your hair. You should do whatever you want with it.”

And, see, Diego would take those words at face value if Luther didn’t look wistful after finishing his sentence. So, Diego keeps the hair, even if it means maintaining it is a bitch.

The third thing that Diego learns is that Luther likes to hold hands. This requires a little more elaboration.

The thing is, this inclination doesn’t translate to outside of the bedroom, so it might merely be a subconscious action on Luther’s part. Maybe it’s an all-in kind of deal. If you’re already making yourself vulnerable both literally and figuratively in bed, then why not go for broke and seek out that extra validation, that extra confirmation that you’re alive? That you’re not in this alone?

Diego kind of gets it. Not the hand-holding part, per se—he’s always been more of a hands-roaming-across-the-rest-of-the-body, sometimes even a hands-tied-up type of guy—but he gets the appeal. Eudora had explained it like this to him once: it’s a way of extending your existence beyond yourself, of putting your life into the care of another person.

He’d asked, then, well, how is that more intimate than fucking?

Eudora had simply tossed him an easy smile, flicked him on the nose, and said, “What other parts of our body interact with the rest of the world as much as our hands do?”

He’d nodded, acknowledging the perspective, but he didn’t truly understand it until now, after applying it to the context of Luther’s headspace. All of a sudden, it makes sense. What other parts of the body can be both gentle and rough? What other parts of the body can both protect and endanger? What other parts of the body can both create and destroy?

That’s the binary that bound Luther from the moment Dad branded him as Number One. Luther wanted to be gentle, to protect, to create. Dad pushed him until he only knew how to be rough, how to endanger, how to destroy.

Luther’s been slowly unlearning it all, but it’s a lonely process. It’s lonely being at the top. He’s always trying to reach out even when denying it, always trying to keep everyone close by even while guarding his own heart, not letting anybody get _too_ close because that would be _weak, pathetic, not the hallmark of a leader_ , as Dad would say.

Luther hides his hands underneath those gloves, locked up inside their own cage just as he locks up the rest of himself. _Cover that torso up with layers. Cover up the scars and the skin and the scabs. Cover it all up and pretend it doesn’t exist._ Maybe he’s done it so often that he can trick himself into thinking that it’s true at times.

(There’s that day a week ago, Luther not in a hurry to cover himself up and instead shedding all layers and laying himself bare. Diego shoves the memory away, lest he messes with his own head and confuses convenience for trust.)

Diego never gave much thought to how Luther’s hands might feel on his skin, but now that he’s had a taste of them, their touch has become permanent—inked, stamped, tattooed, its imprint running deeper than the supernatural bond that they share. It’s dangerous to want Luther to hold his hand outside of the bedroom, when Luther doesn’t have his cock up Diego’s ass, but for some reason, it’s something that Diego finds himself missing during the day-to-day.

Not that he actually wants to _hold hands_ or anything sappy like that. Just that it would be funny to drink in the looks on their siblings’ faces if they saw his and Luther’s fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who knows? Maybe it could be.

Diego realizes, a little belatedly, that all three things he’s learned about Luther point to one singular fact: Luther isn’t satisfied with half measures. He’s going all-in, betting it all, committing one-hundred percent, because apparently, Diego didn’t get the memo that this relationship was going to be a Relationship.

He really shouldn’t be surprised. Luther had said he didn’t intend for this to be a “one-time thing.” And yet, Diego is still caught off guard, unready to face what it all means. He’s rarely ever caught off guard, but if anybody could do it to him consistently, it would be Luther.

Maybe he should consult a second opinion.

~

Allison is not at all surprised when Diego breaks the news. The only thought she seems to be preoccupied with is how everybody else is going to take it.

“Ray was already semi-concerned and freaked out when he learned we all shared a birthday,” Allison muses while crunching on a cracker. “Imagine his face if I tell him you two are dating.”

“We’re not,” Diego says automatically.

“We’re not going to tell him?” Allison leans her head against the back of the couch. “Yeah, good call, we should give him some more time to digest your existence first—”

“I mean,” Diego clarifies, “we’re not dating.”

Allison puts down her bowl of crackers. “Diego. Hon. Come on.”

“What?” Diego says. “We’re not.”

They’re fucking, and they’re certainly more than platonic siblings. Siblings with benefits? That’s a new one. And they’re… friends, probably.

But, that’s it. They’re not dating. They’re not… what that term would imply. Even if Luther seems to think they are.

“We’re not,” Diego says again, just to make it perfectly clear because Allison is staring at him with that look in her eyes, the one that indicates she really wants to rumor someone but is doing her goddamn best to resist the temptation. What would Allison even say to him? _I heard a rumor that you and Luther are dating? I heard a rumor that you and Luther are boyfriends? I heard a rumor that you and Luther are exclusive?_ Ha. That’ll go over well.

“Okay,” Allison says. She puts another cracker in her mouth. “You’re not. Coming through loud and clear.”

“Good,” Diego says. He doesn’t believe her.

“I just want to say, though,” Allison adds, “Luther also came by earlier.”

What?

“ _Why?_ ” Diego asks.

“Why do you think? Did you think you were the only overthinking idiot between the two of you?”

“I’m not an overthinking idiot.”

Allison eyes him. “Really?”

“I’m not,” Diego tries.

Allison holds up a hand. “Stop, we’re getting off track. What I wanted to say was, the face that Luther had when he talked about… this? It wasn’t the look of someone who’s doing something against his will.”

Allison has gotten better at hiding her emotions when she thinks it’s necessary, but this is one emotion that she still has difficulty with: regret. Regret from commanding the love of another person. Regret from leaving Claire behind. Regret from feeling like she doesn’t deserve any of the good things in her life. Regret from feeling like a fraud.

Diego wants to tell Allison that he understands, that he’s never felt more in tune with Allison than this very moment, but he doesn’t quite know how to convey all this without sounding patronizing. He’s been told that he can come off like that sometimes. That’s the last thing he wants.

He nods.

“Trust me,” Allison says. “I know.”

Diego gives her a small smile. “I believe you.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The problem? The problem is that Luther is latching himself onto Diego, forcing his ideal onto him without asking him first. The problem is that this is more than what Diego bargained for when he first faced Luther in the kitchen a week ago. The problem is that the thought that Luther would want this terrifies him.

The problem was never Luther’s side of it. The problem… The problem is…

“I—” Diego shuts his mouth and counts to five before trying again. “I—I’m not—”

It’s no use. The words aren’t coming out right.

Allison threads her fingers with Diego’s. “What?”

“I’m—” Diego feels his chest heaving, gasps of air escaping faster than he’d like them to. “I’m not—I’m not—”

_I’m not good enough. I’m not worth staying for. I’m not here to be second choice. I’m not—_

“I’m not you.”

He must’ve swallowed a truth serum or _something_ because normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting this to anyone. Allison has the ability to make people want to tell her things, though, even without using her powers.

“Oh, Diego.” Allison sighs and squeezes his hand. “You two really are so similar.”

Diego looks up, ready to deny it out of reflex more than out of any conscious decision, but the sadness in Allison’s eyes halts the words on his tongue.

“Listen to me,” Allison says, scooting forward into his space. “I know Luther. And I’d like to think I know you, too. You’re both so stubborn and you fight about the dumbest shit. Sometimes I wonder how it is that neither of you have managed to piss off everyone who’s ever met you.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Diego asks, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips. What is it with his family and being able to make him do that?

“You’re both so stubborn,” Allison repeats. She raises their intertwined hands and shakes them once. It reminds Diego of Klaus’s hands on his own that day by the pool. They’re warm, they both are. “You’re reflections of each other. All the bad that you see in yourself… don’t let that overshadow the good because there’s a lot of it.”

“A lot of bad?”

“A lot of good,” Allison says without missing a beat. She was never the type to fall for anyone’s bullshit, let alone his.

“You should’ve become a shrink instead of an actress,” Diego says. “Would’ve done this fucked up family of ours a service.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t, otherwise I’d have to charge you for my wisdom,” Allison says.

“Lucky me indeed,” Diego says. He glances down at their hands. “Thanks, Ally.”

Allison pats his hand. “If it ever becomes hard to remember, ask yourself if you’d say the things inside your head to Luther. I think that’ll help get you out of the maze.”

“Poetic,” Diego says. He digs at the edge of the couch where the seams are starting to fray, unsure of how to translate his next immediate thought into a cohesive sentence.

Allison waits for him, waits for the words to form.

“I probably would have,” Diego admits. “Said those things to his face, I mean. You know. Before.”

“I know,” Allison agrees. “But I’m not talking about before. I’m talking about now.”

Diego doesn’t say anything else, lets the silence grow.

“You know I’m right,” Allison says.

She is.

“Yeah,” Diego says, nodding. “Okay.”

“You need to talk,” Allison says, emphasizing her point with a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to him.”

Talk to Luther. It should be easy, right?

~

It’s not easy.

Letting Luther card his fingers through his hair: that’s easy. Letting Luther kiss his temple: that’s easy. Letting Luther press him against the wall: that’s easy.

Letting Luther do the hard work: that’s easy. Luther seems content to do all of it, so what’s the point in disrupting his rhythm? Why fix what’s not broken?

Except…

Diego keeps staring at those gloved hands, aching for more, wanting more. _Talk to Luther_ , is his mission. He won’t stop an apocalypse, the fate of the world doesn’t depend on it, nobody’s life is at stake here if he doesn’t succeed, but… but.

He doesn’t know what words to begin with, what’s appropriate in these situations. But, see, Luther’s hands are right there, across the kitchen table. They’re a foot away, maybe less than that. Definitely less than that. And he keeps thinking about what Eudora said, about what it means to hold another person’s hand. Does he want to extend his existence beyond himself? Does he want to put his life in another person’s care? He’s always been satisfied as a lone wolf. He’s always put himself first when it comes to survival.

Surviving isn’t really living, though, is it?

 _Talk to Luther_ , is his mission. There’s an axiom to that, a secondary mission that’s just as important as the primary.

Diego reaches across the table, breaching the invisible line and pushing Luther’s glass and utensils out of the way. Luther’s eyes light up with well-practiced alertness, but the gates remain open, the walls remain down.

Diego doesn’t know how long he has before the alarms start sounding, so he does what he does best and takes advantage of the high tide.

“Hey,” he says, pressing a finger to the palm of Luther’s right hand. “It can’t be comfortable wearing those all the time.”

Luther closes his hand into a fist, keeping Diego close. “I’m used to it.”

“I get it,” Diego says, because he does. But… “Maybe it’s time to try something new, don’t you think?”

Luther tightens his grip but not to hurt, only enough to ask, _Is that really what you want?_

_Is it that easy?_

Diego curls his other hand around Luther’s wrist, picking at the straps that are keeping Luther’s glove in place. It doesn’t require much force to take it off. Just a flick of his thumb and a gentle pull, and Luther is set free.

Diego tosses the glove aside, wrapping Luther’s hand between both of his own. Mission accomplished.

Easy.

“I still have another one,” Luther says, gesturing to his left hand with his chin.

“Don’t make me do all the work,” Diego says. “You’ve gotta pull your weight, big guy.”

Luther regards Diego with steady eyes, a laser-sharp focus that pierces right through to Diego’s core. Luther raises his left hand to his mouth, biting down on the leather and promptly tearing the glove off in one fluid motion.

“That’s hot,” Diego says. “Is that why you never did it around us? Everyone would’ve pounced on you.”

Luther raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. “Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Are you including yourself in this scenario?”

“I said everyone. Stop making me repeat myself. It’s not efficient.”

Diego has no idea where he’s going with this, but they managed to exit the kitchen and make their way towards the couch in the interim, so it’s going somewhere. When his legs hit the seat cushion, he drops down, then looks up into Luther’s eyes, usually an ocean blue, now a darker shade due to the angle of the sunlight hitting against him.

“You gonna join me?” Diego asks.

Luther runs both hands up the sides of Diego’s neck, making his way to Diego’s nape, grabbing two fistfuls of Diego’s hair when he gets there. It’s still not designed to hurt, but Diego moans anyway, just to edge Luther on. He flutters his eyelids, putting on a show, making Luther do something about it.

Diego forgets how swiftly Luther can move at times, which is the only reason why he suddenly finds himself on his back, Luther suspended above him, with no memory of how he got there.

“We gonna break the couch this time?” Diego says.

“We’ll see,” Luther says. “Couches aren’t as expensive as beds. I think I can afford to replace it if necessary.”

“Good in the sack _and_ loaded,” Diego says. “You trying to win me over?”

“Is it working?”

Diego doesn’t say that Luther already has him, has probably had him since the day they were born. Even though it’s his mission to talk to Luther, there are some things that are better left unsaid. For now.

“Eh,” Diego says instead, trying to be flippant with his answer, but Luther’s hold on him has grown tighter, and he’s only so immune to that. “A little old-fashioned, but it’s not bad.”

“I can work with that,” Luther says.

Their limbs tangle together as Luther quickly strips Diego free of his shirt, his pants, his boxers, and Diego does the same for Luther in return. Luther’s about to take Diego’s cock in one hand, Diego’s ass in the other, but that’s not where Diego wants Luther’s hands.

He places his palms in Luther’s, one in each, and draws Luther closer until Luther’s arms are bracketing either side of his head.

“I want you to use your mouth,” Diego says. “Only your mouth.”

Luther rakes his eyes up and down the length of Diego’s body, pupils dilated with a deep-rooted hunger. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Ev—” Luther’s eyes flicker, which is physically impossible, so it must be a trick of the light. “Every—”

“I said everywhere, Luther. Why do you keep making me repeat myself?”

Luther withdraws his arms, moving to flip Diego over onto his stomach, but Diego stops him, pulling him back.

“Eyes on me, big guy,” Diego says.

“Isn’t it—Won’t it be more comfortable the other way around?” Luther asks, confused, cheeks red.

“I want to look at you while you take me apart,” Diego says. He digs his fingernails into Luther’s skin. “You can do that, can’t you? Take me apart?”

He punctuates his sentence with a thrust up, winking in a manner that he knows will push Luther’s buttons in all the right ways. He’s thrown the gauntlet, and thankfully, Luther was never the type to back down from a challenge.

Luther shoves his knees under Diego’s ass and angles him so that Diego’s legs are suspended in the air over his shoulders, Diego’s lower back flush against Luther’s chest. The gravity acts on the blood rushing through Diego’s veins, and Diego feels the strain in his chest, in his head, in the tip of his cock.

“Tell me if it starts hurting,” Luther says, which is sweet and all, but also equally ridiculous because it’s not as if they haven’t already been supremely creative in their previous endeavors, and it’s not as if Diego can’t take it.

He can take anything that Luther dishes. It’s what he’d been trained to do.

“Quit stalling and put that mouth to work,” Diego orders.

And down Luther goes, nose buried in the small space between Diego’s balls and his ass, running his tongue around Diego’s hole before shoving it in. Out here, in the living area, the acoustics are relentless, echoing every small sound throughout the rest of the store, rendering every noise downright obscene and pornographic.

Luther’s only sexual partner before Diego is probably still just that girl from the rave way back when, which sucks for the rest of the world because they are missing out. Oh, well—their loss is Diego’s gain.

Luther does something with his tongue that has Diego’s stomach turning inside out, his skin lighting up like fireworks. Every breath Diego takes is not big enough, every inhale leaving his lungs with a deficit. There’s simply not enough oxygen in the room, in the country, on the planet, that can help him recover. He’s out there in space with Luther on the moon, and he’s forgotten to fill up his tank.

It’s a nice way to go. Besides, Luther is there to keep him company, to breathe life back into him.

“I’m ready,” Diego says, voice strained from teetering on the edge of ecstasy, “I’m ready, c’mon.”

Luther rises on his knees, sliding backward until his cock is positioned at Diego’s hole, Diego’s legs straddling either side of Luther’s hips.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Diego urges, and Luther is falling forward again, pushing until his cock is seated all the way in, until he’s close enough to kiss Diego on the mouth. They collide, not because of a fight or a misunderstanding or any bullshit reason that Dad planted inside their heads, but from the intrinsic need to touch, to feel, to exist.

It’s lonely trying to unlearn the drive to be rough, to endanger, to destroy, but together, maybe Luther can get there. Together, Luther will hopefully become comfortable in his own skin again, will rediscover what it means to be gentle, to protect, to create—to be the force of good that he always wanted to be.

If Luther can get there, then maybe, just maybe, Diego can get there, too.

He watches Luther watch him, eyes fixed on his own, body warmer than summertime, and has the urge to tell Luther, _Take me to the moon and back. Show me the stars, show me the galaxy, show me your world._

Diego threads his fingers with Luther’s, kisses Luther once, and says against his lips, “Fuck me.”

He’s not good with words. It’s something he’s working on. But, Luther seems to get the idea because he pulls out slow, snaps his hips fast, and gives Diego what he wants.

And gives, and gives, and gives. Thank God for that.

“C’mon, Numero Uno,” Diego says, curling his tongue around the R, “fill me up like I know you want to.”

Luther practically convulses, burying his head between Diego’s and the side of the couch, coming with a loud, drawn-out groan.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Diego coaxes. “Give it to me, baby.”

Luther _shudders_ , continuing to thrust into Diego, almost certainly on autopilot at this point. Diego takes it all—Luther’s release, Luther’s heavy panting, Luther’s weight on top of him—and when Luther rocks against him and rubs his chest against Diego’s cock just right, Diego comes from the burning friction, spilling between their stomachs.

Luther is loose and pliant above him, but he makes an effort to move, to get up and out of Diego, which Diego does not want at all.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Diego says, tightening his grip and pulling Luther back down.

“Couch is too small,” Luther explains tiredly.

“Then carry me to someplace bigger,” Diego shoots back. “Didn’t you buy a shiny new bed?”

“Bossy,” Luther says fondly, the fucking sap.

“You know you like it.”

For a moment, Diego wonders if he’s said the wrong thing because Luther releases Diego’s hands. But then, Luther lets out an exasperated laugh and rolls them both off the couch, standing up with Diego in his arms, his cock still up Diego’s ass.

“On you, cockiness is slightly endearing,” Luther says. “But only slightly.”

“Only slightly?” Diego says. “I’ll make you eat your words, swear on my life.”

Luther releases an arm around Diego’s waist to swipe two fingers through the pool of stickiness between them. Diego watches with a newfound heat in his gut as Luther paints the come over Diego’s lips before leaning in, dragging his tongue across Diego’s skin, and kissing it off of him.

“Eat that first,” Luther says.

“Fuck,” Diego says, breathless. “That’s hot.”

Luther smiles. “Isn’t that the second time you’ve said that today?”

“Might be.” Diego shrugs a shoulder. “Whatever. It’s hot. I’m man enough to admit it.”

“Well, then, thank you.”

“You are such a prick.”

“I learn from the best.” Luther wraps his arm back around Diego, drawing him close, the friction of their skin causing Diego’s cock to leak pre-come again. “But…”

“But?” Diego asks, digging his heels into Luther’s ass.

“But, I’d like to go for three out of three.”

“Someone thinks highly of themselves,” Diego says. “I’m not gonna make it easy on you.”

“I would die of shock if you did,” Luther says dryly, then promptly makes his way to the shiny new bed, making good on his word.

And… yeah. Relationship with a capital R is good. This is good. Life is good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around 'til the end! If you enjoyed it, please let me know with a comment and/or some kudos, I would greatly appreciate it. <3


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